Thinking Out Loud

How do you think?  How do you process things?  Those of you who know me in "real life" know that I'm an "external processor" (like how I just made that up?).  I literally think while I'm talking.  It doesn't just help me think things out, it seems to actually produce new thoughts and lines of reason.  It's weird.

So, to those of you who have listened to me over the years, many thanks.  I promise I don't just like to hear myself talk (although I won't completely rule out liking it to some degree).  I think, when there's no one to talk to, writing fills that need to some degree.  So, although this is somewhat ridiculous and quite a reflection of 2011, I thought it'd be funny to "talk" about trying to pick a name for the "new baby."  Who knows?  It might even be helpful.

Here are some of our favorites as of today (subject to change at my every whim):

Evelyn
Nora
Louisa
Georgia
Piper
Hawthorne
Tabitha
Ingrid

We do have some middle name "ideas," but they're certainly not set in stone, and really, at this point in life, what is?  I'm purposely not creating a poll, because I want to hear your thoughts on your favorites.  Voting is not "talking," nor does it provide the same helpful and therapeutic benefits.

Ok, so talk to me...


PS--for the record, when naming Spencer, we threw out our list at the end and started all over...

"What I Learned On My Summer Vacation" In Negatives

Not the answer to heart burn--roasted red pepper hummus.

Not your best time to stand against the crashing waves and try to help your child float in the ocean--third trimester.

Now that "they" ruled out tuna and your heart burn and queasiness ruled out anything fried, all you'll be left with at seafood restaurants--grilled shrimp and crab legs (not complaining...).

Not the most cost-effective time to be applying sunscreen all over your body day after day after day--third trimester.

Not the best environment for swollen, achy feet--air planes and hot beaches.

Not the easiest time to get close ups and creatively angled shots of your toddler on the beach or at the fountains--third trimester.

Nor the best way to employ Netflicks to block out any movie everyone else is watching that contains any suspense at all--earbuds--I hate them.  They don't fit right, and they hurt.

Not disappointed in the beach, ever, no matter how pregnant she is--me--even in my third trimester!

Happy

Even before the media got to me, I remember enjoying most the times of the year that I was tan.  Before I knew who Jennifer Aniston was and before I'd seen thin, airbrushed, tan women on the covers of magazines.  Even back when scars from my bike wrecks and sponge-painted VBS t-shirts were cool, I knew--I just felt better tan.  Life just felt better.  Heck, possibly, life really IS better.

And now with all the research about sun being essential to your vitamin D levels and light therapy promoting emotional well being, all I can think is, "Wow, that was a lot of money to tell us something we all already knew."  Being tan is being happy.

So, here we are...

...happy.

ps--I know all about skin cancer.  We were in the sun for limited amounts of time with gobs of sunscreen all over us, in disgusting amount.  I'm the girl whose mom forced her to swim with a t-shirt over her bathing suit (and sunscreen slathered body) from 9 am to 4 pm.  And in junior high and high school, I'd get grounded if I got sunburned.  I know damage happens even with sunscreen, even without a sunburn,   yadda, yadda.  I'm just sayin'--for the first time in a long time, I had consistently elevated feelings of happiness.  It had to be the sun ('cause it sure was hot).  =)

Fine Whine

Yesterday I hurt my back power-walking my toddler around the zoo.  He can sense when I'm already carrying an extra thirty pounds or so, and he knows I'll get so much stronger so much faster if he adds his thirty pound body into the mix.  So, when not chasing / watching him closely, I was carrying him up and down the surprisingly hilly terrain.  And it was at that point I felt my back do what it did when I was pregnant with Spencer.  I think it's related to the excess weight gain on my fairly small frame, although there are times I think it may be sciatica.  It's probably a combination.  Luckily, it started much earlier with Spencer, so I've actually had quite a "easy" time with my back so far in this pregnancy.

Unfortunately, I was walking oddly, in an attempt to favor the parts of my back that were killing me, and I managed to hurt the foot on the opposite side of my body from my back pain (the opposite side thing is why I think the foot injury is some sort of result of my back craziness).  My back is only mildly hurting, my foot hurts really badly.

My tummy still bugs me all the time, but it's not nearly as acute as it is in the beginning.  It's more chronic, and it's very sensitive--I remember eating mainly turkey sandwiches the last few months with Spencer because everything else seemed to make me sick in some way.  I think we're getting there.  Factor in the reflux and heartburn (which I had with Spencer), and remember that I've yet to potty train my 2.5 year old, so there is still LOTS of bending over and squatting down, and you can see how gastrointestinal comfort of any kind does not seem to be in my near future.  I consistently wake up with sneezing fits in the middle of the night, and I swear I never get past the first trimester fatigue.  I hate wishing away my last few months with my baby boy, but often I think that the end of September can't get here fast enough.

You're gonna miss these "pregnancy posts" aren't you?  Probably about as much as I will miss being pregnant.

My Dad

I've written no less than ten Father's Day blog posts in the last two years, in my head, while in the shower or while lying awake in the middle of the night.  I've yet to post one.  Shame!  You know it's a terrible shame especially if you know my dad.  He deserves everyone one of those "cognitive" blog posts and more--maybe even one spell-checked and with pictures!  

I've had writing one for this year on my calendar for a month now.  And, especially in this instance, saying I've been too busy just sounds ridiculous.  My dad is a busy man as well.  And not just because he's a surgeon.  You can be a "busy surgeon" and then justify whatever time you don't spend doing things with and for your family and other people.  That's not the kind of busy surgeon that he is.  Then, "What kind is he?" you ask.  "Good question," I answer.

My dad, when not busy with being a surgeon and all of the board memberships and extra meetings that come along with it is the sort of dad who took my sisters and me to the park when he had an evening off.  He planned and squeezed in family excursions and trips whenever time and money allowed.  He let us put thirty five barrettes in his hair while he sat and "relaxed" after work.  And then he let us take pictures.   (Sorry I don't have one to post today!)  He told us we were smart, talented, and beautiful.  And he communicated that he believed those things by how he treated us, spoke to us, and bragged on us to whoever he could get to listen.  I know I'd be embarrassed to know how many nurses and doctors have had to hear about my honor roll achievements throughout the years.  

My childhood was far from perfect, and my dad has probably "grown up" as much as I have in these past (almost) twenty-nine years.  And while that does mean that there are things we all wish could have been different, it also means that I had a front row seat to see God.  "What in the world does that mean?" you ask.  "Good questions this morning!" I answer.  

You see, I've often wondered about God.  What's His deal?  What's He like?  Does He even exist?  Whose version of Him could possibly be accurate if He does exist?  Would He even want His name and every pronoun referring to it capitalized?  You get the idea.  I wondered these things at age two, and I wondered them at age twelve.  I continued to wonder them while everyone else wondered what I was going to major in.  So, I attempted to answer both parties; I declared a major in Biblical Studies with an emphasis in Theology ("the study of God," to those of you falling asleep as you read that word.  And, no judgement from me, I never had trouble falling asleep in college.  I could always find a textbook to aid in that endeavor).  

I loved my classes (graciously paid for by my dad, by the way--never in a "you're costing me tons of money, kid!" sort of way); and I learned a lot.  It was the most fun I've ever had school-wise.  And yes, I'm one of those who has fun "school-wise."  However, when it comes down to it, when life seems inexplicable, when I think about what I'm going to teach my kids about God, life, etc., when I think about what I really know to be true and why, I don't think about Fretheim's "The Suffering of God," or Ladd's "New Testament Theology."  I think about my dad--what his life has displayed is the greatest "theology" lesson I've ever been taught.  I've seen real-life redemption, true repentance, transformation and renewal, forgiveness that seems impossible, a love for justice that's unmatched, joyful and selfless giving, humility not-often-seen in "busy surgeons," and unconditional love.  His life exemplifies these things because of his relationship with Jesus Christ.

And while I could spend years writing an entire blog with daily entries detailing all the ways in which my dad's life has taught me those things, you'll just have to take my word for it today--and at least for the next five years or so.  Maybe I could pull a little something together after that.  

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Happy Father's Day, Dad.  Thank you for everything I've talked about above and all the other things I've had to omit.  I love you so much, and I'm so thankful you're my dad.  Jonathan, Spencer, and I are pretty thankful that you're Spencer's Papa too.  Tell your patients to stay well so we can see you tonight.

Edited to show Evelyn, only one week old, already thankful to have such a special Papa.